GERTRUDE.  I was never more astonished or delighted in my life than when you and Jenny Buckthorn rode up, this morning, with a guard from Winchester; and Madeline, dear, I—­I only wish that my brother Robert could be here, too.  Do you remember in Charleston, darling—­that morning—­when I told you that—­that Robert loved you?

MADELINE.  He—­[Looking down.]—­he told me so himself only a little while afterwards, and while we were standing there, on the shore of the bay—­the—­the shot was fired which compelled him to enter this awful war—­and me to return to my home in the North.

GERTRUDE.  I was watching for that shot, too. [Turning.

MADELINE.  Yes—­[Rising.]—­you and brother Kerchival—­

GERTRUDE.  We won’t talk about that, my dear.  We were speaking of Robert.  As I told you this morning, I have not heard from him since the battle of Winchester, a month ago.  Oh, Madeline! the many, many long weeks, like these, we have suffered, after some terrible battle in which he has been engaged.  I do not know, now, whether he is living or dead.

MADELINE.  The whole war has been one long suspense to me. [Dropping her face into her hands.

GERTRUDE.  My dear sister! [Placing her arm about her waist and moving left.] You are a Northern girl, and I am a Rebel—­but we are sisters. [They go up veranda and out.  An OLD COUNTRYMAN comes in on a cane.  He stops and glances back, raises a broken portion of the capstone of post, and places a letter under it.  GERTRUDE has stepped back on veranda and is watching him.  He raises his head sharply, looking at her and bringing his finger to his lips.  He drops his head again, as with age, and goes out.

GERTRUDE moves down to stage and up to road, looks right and left, raises the broken stone, glancing back as she does so; takes letter and moves down.] Robert is alive!  It is his handwriting! [Tears open the wrapper.] Only a line from him! and this—­a despatch—­and also a letter to me!  Why, it is from Mrs. Haverill—­from Washington—­with a United States postmark. [Reads from a scrap of paper.]

“The enclosed despatch must be in the hands of Captain Edward Thornton before eight o’clock to-night.  We have signaled to him from Three Top Mountain, and he is waiting for it at the bend in Oak Run.  Our trusty scout at the Old Forge will carry it if you will put it in his hands.”

The scout is not there, now; I will carry it to Captain Thornton myself.  I—­I haven’t my own dear horse to depend on now; Jack knew every foot of the way through the woods about here; he could have carried a despatch himself.  I can’t bear to think of Jack; it’s two years since he was captured by the enemy—­and if he is still living—­I—­I suppose he is carrying one of their officers.  No!  Jack wouldn’t fight on that side.  He was a Rebel—­as I am.  He was one of the Black Horse Cavalry—­his eyes always flashed towards the North.  Poor Jack! my pet. [Brushing her eyes.] But this is no time for tears.  I must do the best I can with the gray horse.  Captain Thornton shall have the despatch. [Reads from note.]